


Perditus et Repertus

by themathpuppy



Category: Hurog - Briggs
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-04 23:58:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themathpuppy/pseuds/themathpuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coda of sorts for Dragon Bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perditus et Repertus

It had been the hardest thing I'd ever had to do in my life and even knowing that it was for the best, that nothing could have stopped it, wasn't enough to stop the guilt. Deep down I knew that there was no possible way for it to have ended any differently, but that didn't stop me from thinking that maybe there was something I could have done that would have stopped everything without having to...

It hurt to think about, and so I tried my best not to, throwing myself into the work that needed to be done on the keep or practicing with Stala and the Blue Guard, often far past the point of exhaustion. I'd realized within the first month that if I pushed myself hard enough the thoughts that ran through my head whenever I was alone would quiet. Not stop, never stop, but quiet enough that I could hold something resembling a normal conversation, could focus on something besides the ever present guilt.

The dreams started in the third month. They were nightmares at first - cruel, twisted things that left me gasping for breath upon waking, scratching at my hands to remove blood long since washed away. I tried doubling the practices with Stala, pushing myself at a pace even I was aware was reckless, but to no avail. The nightmares continued regardless, haunting me with images of what I'd done, flashes of familiar Hurog blue eyes sliding shut one last time, of the warmth of his final breath on my arm.

Another three months passed, marked only by the coming of the winter snows and a blessed lessening in the frequencies of my nightmares. Then one day the nightmares ceased altogether, replaced with another sort of dream that force me into breathless wakefulness for an entirely different reason that left me with a sense of guilt all its own. They were vivid dreams, so clear that I would swear they had to be memories were it not for the fact that such things had never happened – would never happen now – no matter how much the parts of my mind I tended to repress might wish otherwise.

Still more months flew past, the days blurring together in a haze punctuated by the persistence of the dreams. My daily life became almost mechanical, actions without thought, though if anyone but me took notice of that fact they never mentioned it. I tried to act as much like myself as possible, but it was difficult at best when half of my mind was locked in a veritable cage of guilt, the other trapped in the memories of dreams. I would close my eyes and all I would see was familiar purple-blue eyes and pale skin, feel soft, silken hair under my hands.

I began to fear I would end up like my mother, lost to dreams and memories, hiding from I reality I couldn't quite bring myself to fully face. The only thing keeping me grounded enough to continue my duties was the thought of what would happen to Hurog – to the people I cared for and strove to protect – if I were to let go. But then the spring came, and with it a relief of sorts in the form of the return of my brother, Tosten, from Iftahar. Axiel arrived soon thereafter, just as he had promised he would. The three of us kept ourselves busy fixing the salt creep poisoning the fields and continuing the rebuilding of the keep walls.

In this way the remainder of the spring faded into summer, each day much like the last. At least, until I awoke one morning near midsummer with an intense feeling of anticipation deep in my gut. The constant expectance made me even more restless than usual, so I decided to take Pansy out on a familiar run. After a little while we arrived in front of the great bronze doors, or rather, the area where the bronze doors once had been. Instead of standing closed in their familiar place, the doors lay bent and misshapen a few yards away, burnt black in places. I stood there for a little while, staring at the empty hole left behind, contemplating what might have happened, until I heard Pansy welcoming someone behind me. I turned, expecting my brother, and instead found myself face to face with the man who had been haunting my dreams and my nightmares for the better part of a year.

This had to be a dream, though vivid as they were, my dreams had never been quite so detailed as this. I could feel the wind and the warmth from the sun, sensations that had never before been present in my dreams. Not to mention that the Oreg before me now was subtly different from the one I saw in memories by day and dreams by night. His posture was still a bit self-conscious and uncertain I'll admit, but there was something else in it, an underlying confidence and freedom that I'd never seen there before.

"Hello, Ward."

The voiced decided it. As improbably as it was, this had to be real. The Oreg that came to me in dreams never spoke. I don't recall what my response to his unexpected arrival was, or even many of the details the following conversation we held on the hill that day. At first I was too much in shock, and after the shock faded came the emotions I hadn't let myself feel for the past year – a sharp anger that quickly gave way to something less immediately identifiable.

I only vaguely recall welcoming him home after that, remember the walk back to the keep even less. The first clear memory I have of that day is the two of us talking in my room late into the evening, and of the events which followed immediately after.

I still don't know for sure which of us began it. All I remember is that one moment I was sitting on the bed in my room, catching Oreg about the almost full year he'd missed, and the next he was all but in my lap, soft lips pressed to mine like something out of my dreams. But the reality was different from my dreams – and far, far better to be honest. Admittedly, it was awkward at first. I'd never really been with a man, at least not like this, and I'm fairly certain Oreg had not been with anyone at all in more years than either of us could likely count. The awkwardness soon passed, though, leaving the rest of the night a blur of pleasure, all soft skin and warmth and primal sounds that defied easy description but which I swear I will remember to my dying day.

All too soon it was over and the two of us lay there on my bed, spent and panting for breath. Oreg recovered first. Or, at least, recovered enough to roll towards me, cuddling into my side, head resting on my chest. And as I wrapped my arm loosely around him in response, dragging him even closer against my side, I realized that for the first time that year all was quiet, and all was right.


End file.
